


Sherlock and Rose

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: When Paths Collide [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Curious Sherlock, Frustrated John, Gen, M/M, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Skewed Timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:17:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor's antics in London are too outrageous for Sherlock not to notice, even with Mycroft trying to keep him in the dark...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Lestrade, I'm telling you I saw it move.”

Sherlock was pacing around the Detective Inspector's office. This was quite a regular occurrence, but one thing different this time was Sherlock holding a plastic manikin doll the size of a child and looking at it as if it would come alive at any moment.

“Where's John?”

Sherlock was thrown slightly by the random question and glanced from the doll to his friend and back to the doll again. He knocked on its child sized head and received a dull thud in response. “Work. Like he usually is on a Monday and you changing the subject will not make me disbelieve what I saw any less. It moved I swear.”

“It's plastic, Sherlock! I brought you in to help with this explosion case, not spew me some nonsense about plastic walking around London.”

“You know I trust what I see. I wouldn't make this up!”

“Ok, let's just say you're not making it up and this plastic moved, hypothetically moved. What do you want me to do about it? Arrest all the plastic?”

“Don't be an idiot, Lestrade. I'm saying there's a connection.”

“What, with the explosion? You haven't even seen it yet.”

“It was on the news. One of the biggest shops in central London goes up in flames and you expect me not to notice.” He cocked his head on one side.

“I suppose we can thank John for you being more TV aware. Now are you coming to the scene or not?”

“Obviously.”

“Well, you'll have to come in my car.”

“No way. I'll get a cab.”

“This is non-negotiable, Sherlock. You won't get in unless you're with me. This is bomb squad territory and I'm only allowed access because of your brother.”

The detective sighed and handed the DI the plastic doll. “Fine.”

Greg looked at it and sighed. Dumping it on his desk, he followed the younger man out rolling his eyes.

He sent a message to John. _Sherlock on the loose. Need your help, have you got a leash? GL_

***

In the staff room at the clinic, John was watching BBC News 24. They were covering an explosion.

_The whole of Central London has been closed off as police investigate the fire. Early reports indicate that the fire started from an explosion that was centred at Henrick's department store. Emergency crews are on site and, as soon as the fire is contained, will start searching through the rubble for two people believed to be missing: an electrician and sales clerk._

_Authorities told BBC News 24 the unaccounted for may be trapped following the explosion after attempts to reach them by phone were unsuccessful. However, eyewitness accounts offer hope that they may have escaped the inferno._

_One eyewitness offered, “There was this huge explosion. It was too big to be a firework or gunshot. Just before it happened, I saw a man and woman run out of the building. The woman looked panicked.”_

_The description given for the woman appears to be consistent with the missing sales clerk, however, there does seem to be some discrepancy in appearance where the electrician is concerned._

John's mobile pinged with a message. _Sherlock on the loose. Need your help, have you got a leash? GL_

John covered his eyes with one hand and groaned. He glanced down at his watch. It was late and they were slow here at the clinic. John looked over questioningly to where Sarah had been watching the coverage intently. She was regarding him now.

“Go ahead, John. I'll cover for you,” she smiled indulgently. “I know you'll just worry incessantly if you don't.”

John tapped out a response to Greg even as he thanked Sarah. “Ta, Sarah. Greg's got Sherlock, so hopefully he won't plunge into the rubble while it's still burning, but you never know.” John shrugged on his coat and headed out to meet Greg and Sherlock, the newscast continuing in the background.

_Fire then spread throughout the store. Fifteen fire crews are in attendance, though it's thought there is very little chance of saving the infrastructure._

John didn't fancy Greg's chances of keeping Sherlock in line, not one little bit.

***

“Sherlock, you'll wait there while I go and find out if it's safe for you to look around.”

“The fire's practically out. There were 15 different fire crews here. There's 2 left.” He pointed at the two red trucks in view in the street opposite.

The DI sighed and climbed out. Sherlock got out too, insistent on following the older man.

“God help me, Sherlock, stay in the car or I will handcuff you to the door.”

“Try it.”

Greg glared. “I am not letting you go and find out if it's safe on your own and I'm not having you blunder about like an overgrown child when it's very likely dangerous. Now wait there!”

Sherlock still refused and in seconds Greg had turned, his cuffs had appeared out of nowhere and he had attached his wrist to the door handle. He locked the car up. “I warned you. Now, be patient. You are not a school boy!”

As if to completely contradict the older man he growled and stamped his foot.

Greg glanced at the sky, muttering, “Please, John.”

Sherlock watched him go, breathing heavily. This explosion was the best case since forever and he was stood handcuffed to a car. He stamped his foot again and searched his pockets for a paper clip he knew he had stashed somewhere.

Greg had stopped and was talking to some guys with heavy looking suits and helmets on.

Locating the paper clip he wriggled it about inside the lock until he heard the satisfying click and he pulled his wrist free. Making note of where the DI was still stood chatting and pointing at the building, Sherlock hurried off towards the backdoor. No one was guarding it, but that would be because all the officers were half a mile away guarding the cordon. He slipped his paper clip out again and began fiddling with the lock.

“Sherlock Holmes!” barked a very well-known voice from behind.

The detective's shoulders tensed and he sighed, his head flopping back in defeat. He turned slowly, there was only one person it could be. He was right. John was stood there looking very unimpressed with Greg just behind him… out of breath?

Sherlock heard John mutter the dreaded words. “Give me a minute, Greg.”

His shoulders slouched and he waited as John took the 10 or so steps towards him. He grabbed him by his ear, causing him to bend double to match the height he wanted him to walk at and he scuffed his feet as John pulled him around the corner and out of sight. He pushed him back against the wall and the taller man grunted.

“John…” he silenced him with a kiss and pushed his tongue in. Sherlock let it happen, arousal flooding through him. Not now Sherlock! The Work. When John pulled away, he tried to protest again.

“No!” John snapped. “I've just been speaking to Greg. He says you have to stay very close to one of the armed men as they believe this was a terrorist. Do you get that Sherlock? A terrorist. If they see you wandering about on your own, your safety is not guaranteed. The infrastructure is also very unstable. Now if you go in there, you stick with me Greg and one of the Bomb officers. Is that understood?”

“But John… they'll just slow me down!”

“Non-negotiable, 'Lock! Me, Greg and one officer. Take it or leave it.”

“But-”

“Take it or leave it,” he repeated.

“Fine.”

“No sex for a month if you even contemplate wandering off unprotected. Is that understood?”

Sherlock sighed, but nodded, “Yes, John.”

For the first 10 minutes, the only thing right at the front of Sherlock's mind was: no sex for a month if he wandered off. The problem was, whilst he was thinking of that, his mind wasn't on the case and the case was important here, not their sex life. Ok, he couldn't believe he just thought that, but he had to prioritise. He highly doubted John would follow through on his threat. He was just protective and sentimental, but he thought no sex for a month was on the bottom of both their 'wants' lists. Thus, he decided that he couldn't put this case back on the whim that John might ban sex when he would be losing out too. It lasted about 7 minutes, a lot longer than John had anticipated, before his boyfriend had disappeared.

“Dammit, Sherlock!”

“We better find him,” Greg interrupted his thoughts on how he was going to be dead by the time they got back to the flat. The DI turned to the officer behind him to let him know.

Sherlock dropped back into an alcove and waited for the others to get a good distance away before he ran up the back stairs. He couldn't believe it had been that easy to give his lover and Greg the slip. They were supposed to be 'keeping an eye' on him. When he appeared at the top he was faced with a lift, or more a hole with a floor. He peered in, not trusting the bottom of it, being cautious for once. Judging by the scorch marks, he would say it had been heading down when the explosion went off. But why had it stopped here? Unless this was the floor whoever it was had entered at. The ground was mucky and covered in ash, but he could see where it had settled and outlined two sets of footsteps… So two different people had been here before the explosion. He crouched down and ran his finger over the dust. One set of prints was clearly smaller than the other, both were boots, one with a heel, the other steel toe capped. A man and a woman, he surmised. Possibly the sales clerk- probably the sales clerk.

There was a clattering behind him and he stood as he spun. The corner of his eye caught something disappearing between what appeared to be the leftovers of plastic manikin dolls. Random arms and legs poked out of a box. He followed, albeit cautiously, no doubt someone mucking around. He crept up to where it had disappeared and jumped around. There was nothing there. He growled low in his throat and then tensed. Once again, the reason for his tensing was his boyfriend. He sensed him before he heard him.

“Sherlock Holmes!” barked the voice of one very irate old army captain, sounding exactly the same as he had not half an hour ago.

“Yes, John,” he sighed, turning around.

He heard Greg shout “Got him?” in the distance.

The thing was, they hadn't 'got him' at all and there really was someone else here with them. Ignoring John, he turned his back on the older man and headed in the direction the figure that caught his eye had gone when suddenly the sound of “Sherlock!” and a large sum of wall collapsing rendered him horizontal and out cold. John, his heart in his throat, ran to the pile of rubble and started scrabbling to remove the debris that buried his boyfriend. “Sherlock, talk to me,” he called as the pile shifted and Sherlock's head and arms poked out with a groan.

The detective answered with, “I'm fine. Check on him.” He gestured over his head towards where the mysterious figure had disappeared.

Shaking his head and caught in Captain Watson mode, he growled out, “There's no one there. Are you hurt?”

Greg came up just as Sherlock averred, once again, that he was ‘fine’ and that his doctor was an ‘unobservant idiot’. The DI willed his friend to shut up, because he could tell that John was near breaking point. They pulled the last slab of plaster from off Sherlock's form and he sprang to his feet, then flew the few short paces to where the manikin dolls lay. He scanned the area, finding no one and nowhere for a person to have gone. He kicked the nearest manikin in frustration and just as he did, the building gave an ominous groan, debris fell and John called his name. For one brief, frozen moment, the detective hesitated. Once more, the building gave a groan and he felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned and ran as the building shuddered and began collapsing around them.

Once outside the building, the doctor's chest heaved and he turned to face Sherlock. The discipline that he had learned in the army stood him in good stead. Calmly, ever so calmly, he asked, “Broken bones? Burns? Did you hit your head?”

“No, John, but I saw someone! You let him get away!”

“Sherlock!” John yelled and the detective froze, turning to face him. The younger man went still at what he saw. “You complete and utter berk! You arse. You could have been killed.” His nostril flared and his hands fisted at his sides. “Greg could have been killed!” John took a single step towards Sherlock who resolutely stood his ground. “To be perfectly clear, you're fine?” At the detective's jerky nod, John reared back and threw a punch. Greg caught his arm before he got a second swing in and shoved him back from Sherlock. “Let go,” he barked. “I'm going to kill him!”

The corner of Sherlock's mouth quirked up and he heard himself utter the worst possible thing he could have said. “Really, John. I'm safe, so you're going to kill me? Don't be an idiot.”

The doctor lurched in the DI's grip and growled. Greg tightened his grip. “You can't kill him now. Too many witnesses.” He jerked his head towards the numerous firemen, bomb squad, police officers and general onlookers. “I'll help you do it later.” Sherlock scoffed and Greg shot him a glare.

Forcing himself to relax, John gave a curt nod to the DI who released him.

In the confusion and the anger of his lover being caught in Greg's grip, Sherlock sensed his opportunity. As John turned back to speak to Greg, he raced off. There was definitely someone else in that building. If they weren't dead, they were still in there because if they weren't in there, they would have been caught on their way out. He avoided the way in they'd gone earlier, he doubted he could get through anyway, so instead ran across the bottom floor, his coat tails flapping behind him. He raced up the back stairs to the third floor and then found where the ceiling had collapsed on him. He shivered at the thought and shifted enough so his head could push through. There he was the man he'd glimpsed earlier, in a now filthy white shirt and a pair of black trousers. How had he survived the ceiling falling in? How had he got out alone? And why the hell was he dressed in a tux? His eyes trailed up the other man's body and paused on his face. It was completely smooth, no place for eyes, the nose was flat, and its mouth was sealed shut. He would have stared forever, but the arm raised as the fingers of its right hand fell down. That looked like a gun… that was a gun. He had never reversed so fast. A bit more of the ceiling gave way as he dislodged some of the brick, but he ignored it and headed straight for the stairs. Sherlock stumbled out the front door of the building in shock, his mind not with him, but cataloguing what he couldn't have seen.

He didn't have long, though. His Mind Palace would have to wait. There were suddenly 4 armed officers in front of him, 2 knelt down 2 stood. He was still in a daze, though, not listening to their commands, but he was clearly unarmed as his hands ran through his curls which were glistening with dust. In mere seconds, he found himself grunting as three men hit him from behind and knocked him first to his knees and then onto his chest. One held his head down, another his legs and another squeezed a set of cuffs around his wrists. He could just picture John's face. He was not going to be happy.

If John had been angry before, he was livid now. Sherlock had bolted the moment that he and Greg had turned their backs. He wanted to go back in after the detective, but now all of the doors were blocked by officials of varying types. He spluttered and complained vociferously to Greg who could do nothing but commiserate with him while they waited and worried. Long minutes later, a commotion down the street caught the doctor's attention. Either the perpetrator had been caught or...

“C'mon, mate. I think it's His Nibs,” the DI urged.

As they got closer, it quickly became evident that Greg was correct as the figure on the ground spewed dark vitriol at the officers atop him. “Idiots! If I had set the bomb, would I have been in the building? Do try to use your tiny little brains for once. I'm Sherlock Holmes! Let me go!!”

“Let him up,” Greg ordered as he flashed his warrant card. “He's with me,” he added, almost embarrassed with the younger man's show.

The men holding him down reluctantly climbed off of him and Greg tugged him, rather roughly to his feet. “Get these off of me,” Sherlock growled, jiggling his hands behind him.

Glancing briefly at John, the DI intervened, “Leave them on.”

Sherlock whirled and glared at Greg in disbelief. “But Gavin!”

“Shut it, Sherlock.” John took him by the arm and started manhandling him towards where the DI's car waited to take them to 221B.

They had to stop in front of Speedy's as there was a black sedan sitting in front of 221. Sherlock rolled his eyes and complained, “You called Mycroft.”

“Damned straight, I did.” Greg glanced at him in the mirror. “Between us and John, maybe we can keep your arse alive.”

John pulled Sherlock unceremoniously from the car and dragged him inside and up the stairs into the flat. They were followed by the government official and the DI.

Sherlock broke free of John's grasp and rounded on Greg. “Get the cuffs off. Now,” he growled in his coldest tone. The DI didn’t flinch and stood his ground. Sherlock looked from face to face around the room. There were three sets of angry eyes staring at him. “There was a man, no, a thing in there. I saw it. I had to investigate!” The glares of the other men didn't soften. “Listen. I found it and... It didn't have a face.” Hard glares turned worried. “The thing tried to kill me!”

John stepped forward and ran his hands over the younger man's skull. There were no bumps or bleeding evident. “You're sure you didn't hit your head?” Sherlock jerked away and started to speak, but his brother cut him off.

“Perhaps, John, the smoke got to him.” Mycroft raised one eyebrow. “Who knows what chemicals were in it?”

“I was not hallucinating, brother dear!” Sherlock spat.

“No. A 'thing' without a face was wandering around in a burnt out building and you were the only one to see it. Oh, and it tried to kill you.” He stepped near. “Listen to yourself, baby brother. You sound mad.” Mycroft stared him down, hoping that he could get through to Sherlock. UNIT was involved and that meant that He was involved. Where The Doctor tread, was danger of a sort that he would do anything to protect his brother from. Anything.

Sherlock heard the implied threat in Mycroft's words. He wouldn't put it past his brother to have him sectioned in the name of keeping him safe, he'd already been to rehab for that very reason, after all. He looked to John for support, but found only concern. The detective dropped his shoulders in defeat. Sherlock knew what he had seen, but he wouldn't worry his friend or give Mycroft more fodder. He would bide his time. Softening his voice, he said, “Perhaps you're right.” He turned his back to Greg and asked, “Please?”

The DI glanced at Mycroft and John and received the okay to unlock the cuffs.

Sherlock rubbed at his freed wrists and muttered a “thanks” then turned to his brother. “I'll leave it alone, now kindly piss off.”

Sherlock watched his brother leave with heartfelt resentment and then watched the DI give John the cuffs. “They might come in handy.”

John smiled. “Thanks.”

Sherlock saw the threat for what it was.

“Hold on, Myc,” Greg called and rushed off after him.

Sherlock turned his back on the now closed door to an unimpressed doctor.

“What was the real reason you ran back into the crumbling building?”

Sherlock growled. Telling the truth wasn't getting him anywhere. “I thought I saw something that needed cataloguing in my Mind Palace,” he sunk into his chair as John stood in front of him. Concern was wiped from his face replaced with that livid look he had when he'd dragged him from the police car. He could sense a rant coming and knew for a fact he would not be impressed at the end.

“Something that needed cataloguing? You went back into that death trap to see something that needed cataloguing!” John advanced a step towards Sherlock.

“Yes, John!” The detective closed his eyes, his hands coming to join at the fingertips in front of him. He leant back in his chair. “This world is full of improbable things.” His eyes snapped open deliberately. “Closing my eyes to them won't make them go away. I had to see what was there, no matter how improbable.” The older man's expression hadn't changed one whit. “Don't you see!”

“No. I don't see. This wasn't like your haring off after some criminal or breaking into a flat. It wasn't even like your madcap larks over the rooftops. This was you. Going into an unstable, still smouldering building that could very well have held another bomb. A bomb, I might add, that wouldn't give a flying fuck about your idiotic improbabilities!”

Sherlock stood in one smooth fluid motion, then dipped his knees to look the doctor in the eyes. “But, John...”

“No more.” John shook his head and threw one hand up to point at the detective. “We can talk about it in the morning. If we keep this up right now, I'll just end up punching you. Again. Then, I swear, I might tie you down to the bloody bed until this whole farce blows over.”

Sherlock whirled away and stalked over to the window and looked out. He wouldn't be able to accomplish anything tonight, what with John's bluster and Mycroft's inevitable surveillance, but tomorrow would be a different matter. Silence hung in the air for a bit. It was finally broken when the doctor turned on the telly. Sherlock silently made his plans.

The next morning found them eating breakfast. John had to leave in a while for his shift at the clinic. He was worried and the fact that his mad genius was eating without being asked wasn't doing anything to help. He wiped his mouth, then cleared his throat. “You know I love you.”

The detective rolled his eyes.

“And I know you love me,” John continued, “Though you're too daft to say it.”

Sherlock resented that remark. His blogger knew he loved him, so what need was there for words?

“And, since you love me, you will not do anything today to risk the life of the only person I'll ever care about.”

John would have to phrase it that way. Still, he wouldn't be risking his life. He would be gathering information. The department store would have been cleared by now of any bombs, the fire would be almost fully extinguished and if he had to enter the building again, he would be careful. “Fine.” Sherlock made a show of walking over and picking up his violin.

There was a bit more shuffling around the flat on John's part while the doctor prepared to leave. He gave the younger man a look, then let out a long sigh. “Look, just call me if something comes up. Yeah?”

Sherlock turned to face him and, without pausing in his playing, gave a small nod.

The doctor muttered, “Right,” to himself then left for the clinic, though his thoughts remained in the flat with Sherlock.

Why couldn't John have been on the early shift? It was now nearly 11 o'clock and Sherlock was watching from the window of 221B as John marched up the street. He sent one warning glare over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow when he saw him in the window. Sherlock raised his hands in a placating gesture. He nodded once and then disappeared around the corner.

11 o'clock meant town would be busy. Grrr, people!

He waited for half an hour. He knew John wasn't dull and ordinary like others, hence why they got on so well. He also knew John's shift didn't start till 12 which meant he was probably waiting to see if he snuck out. When he was sure that the doctor would have continued on his journey, he grabbed his scarf and Belstaff from the hook and struggled into both as he skipped down the stairs.

Town wasn't as busy as he had anticipated. The street was still shut off, police all over the place and news crews still picking up the scraps. He spotted a shop opposite with some of those dummies in. Smashing a window wasn't an option, not with the amount of police lurking around, so he pulled his lock picking kit from his pocket and set to picking the lock. It didn't take long. It appeared the owners had shut up in a hurry yesterday.

His grin was predatory when he heard the lock click and he slid inside. The closest manikin had a pair of dungarees on. He was suddenly glad the metal shutters were closed as he lifted it off the stand and began to undress it. He was running his hands over the surface muttering to himself about the impossible and the improbable when he heard a gun click behind him. He sighed. Twice in 2 days. C'mon Sherlock! This time, however, he was more aware of his surroundings and his hands went up.

“I think you have some explaining to do.”

Sherlock growled. “Lestrade…”

“No!” He grasped him by the collar and squeezed it tightly.

Sherlock choked momentarily before he released his grip slightly. He was stunned into silence for a moment.

“Did John not reiterate Mycroft's orders in a way that you were more likely to pay attention to?”

“Of course he did!” Sherlock spat.

“Well then, you have nothing else to say.”

“Lestrade!”

“No more talking, Sherlock! I've had enough of your bullshit. One more word and I'll arrest you.” He slipped his gun back into its holster and dragged him out by the collar.

Sherlock wisely kept his mouth shut as Greg dragged him around the corner to the police car. Sherlock's cheeks were flush by the time the DI had forced him into the back seat. It seemed he did feel embarrassment at being dragged around London by the collar like a child.

“The child lock's on, Sherlock, so you won't be getting out. John's waiting for you at home. He's rather pissed off seeing as he has had to leave work early. Again.”

Greg resorted to grabbing him by the scruff of the neck once again when they pulled up outside 221.

“You don't have to stay, Lestrade. You can go.”

“I said one more word from you and I'd arrest you.”

There wasn't time for any arresting, however, as the door opened up and John was there, arms folded across his chest. He looked less than impressed. Sherlock swallowed hard and for once genuinely feared what was about to happen.

The DI dragged the detective forward and through the doorway to 221 as John stepped aside.

The doctor couldn't resist reaching out and smacking him on the back of the head.

“John-”

“Shut it, Sherlock!” John snarled. He smiled at the older man. “Thanks for bringing him home Greg and for catching him in the first place.”

“Don't thank me, thank Mycroft.”

Sherlock growled. John shoved him towards the stairs. “Go up there and wait for me.”

With a large huff Sherlock stamped up the stairs, making sure that his feet made an impact on the stairs that would annoy the doctor. The glare over his shoulder told Sherlock he had been successful. He slouched down into his chair, still in his coat and scarf and flicked the tele on, turning the volume right up. Why couldn't he go and investigate if he wanted to? He wasn't a child. Everyone treated him like he was a toddler. You can't do this, Sherlock. You can't do that, Sherlock. He'd had enough.

The sound of the downstairs door shutting was loud enough for him to hear even over the crap TV program. He resolutely ignored the door as it swung open, but couldn't hide the flinch that came when it slammed shut.

John marched over to him and snatched the remote from his grasp, turning the TV off and throwing the remote onto the empty chair. “Stand up!” John barked.

Sherlock went to comply, his hands moved to the arms of the chair to push himself up but he froze and dropped back. “No! Why should I? I'm not a child. You all treat me like I'm 3 years old. Well, I'm not, I'm a fully grown adult and was managing my life fine before you and Lestrade butted your noses in.”

John crossed his arms. “I believe you found yourself in rehab did you not? And frequented drugs.”

Sherlock glared, he was not going to admit that, John knew as well as he did the whole drug situation.

“Now, this is what is going to happen. You are going to listen to me because I've had enough of your bollocks.”

“My bollocks?”

“You insisting you know best every single time. You rush headlong into trouble all at every turn, without pausing to think about putting yourself in danger, do you even think ahead? Do you think if I go into this rubble because I think I saw something it won't collapse around me because my mind is so fantastic it holds it up?”

Sherlock still had nothing to say.

“No, it's a good job that you've kept your mouth shut because saying anything at this point would just get you into more trouble.”

“Trouble? I'm 35.”

“Then act like it!” John barked he took a deep, calming breath and stepped towards him. “You scare me, babe, and you scare your brother and Greg and all our friends because you don't think! Now, as a child were you ever grounded?”

Sherlock's expression spoke volumes, but he didn't speak, he was doing that a lot tonight; keeping quiet. He was meant to be angry at John not the other way around.

Seeing as the detective was keeping quiet, John continued. “Well, you're grounded. As of now.”

“What?” Sherlock was incredulous.

“You will not go anywhere without me. I've taken two weeks off. If I still can't trust you by the end of those two weeks you will have one of Mycroft's minions with you at all times from that point onwards.”


	2. Chapter 2

If John was going to treat him like a child he'd act like a child. He'd sulk. He wouldn't talk to him. He'd make these two weeks just as bad for him as they would be for himself. At least until he could work out what to do about these faceless men.

In regard to the faceless men, Sherlock considered the plastic arm on the table. He could achieve two things at once - investigate the mystery and irritate John. Sherlock used his blow torch to set fire to the plastic. Amidst the acrid smoke and flames, the detective saw the arm jerk. It flew at him and he batted it away reflexively. The arm fell to the floor where it writhed as it was consumed in flame.  
That was when John charged into the kitchen wielding a fire extinguisher and swearing profusely.

“Sherlock!” He barked.

The tone John took made Sherlock's head snap over at him.

Uh-oh.

Sherlock tried to redirect John's anger. “It tried to kill me!”

The doctor's lips were pressed in a thin line as he put out the fire. “Open the windows! This smoke's probably poisonous.”

“You open them!”

John stood and stared at him even as he toed the arm that was now on the floor. He waited and waited until eventually Sherlock sighed and moved to open the windows. Then he slumped in his chair, determined not to even so much as look at the doctor.

John slowed his breathing and put the fire extinguisher down. This obsession of Sherlock's was getting out of hand. “Manikins or pieces of manikins simply don't move. You have to realise how mad you sound.”

He slouched down further in his chair. He wanted to scream, 'I don't care how mad I sound, it's true!' But he didn't. He just stared at the floor. At the slight hole in his sock.

The fact that Sherlock didn't try to defend himself or even argue struck John hard - the detective obviously believed what he was saying. John pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Remember the hound? There was a logical explanation then. There has to be one now.”

Sherlock didn't look at the doctor. He stood up and slumped towards their bedroom. He pushed the door closed behind him, climbed on to the bed and sat with his back against the head board, his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin on his knees. If John didn't want to believe him that was fine. He'd continue to sulk.

The doctor considered breaking the door to their room down, but decided against it. Instead he shot off a text to Mycroft.

_ Need to talk, Sherlock won't let it go - JW _

The reply was instantaneous. _Make him, John. This is too dangerous for him to get involved in. I mean it. Make him drop it. Do whatever you have to. MH_

The doctor groaned. No one could make Sherlock Holmes do anything. Mycroft of all people should know that. But then he'd put _do whatever you have to_. He hadn't been protective about Sherlock in a way to protect him from John but to protect him from whatever it was that was going on. But what to do? Sherlock was a grown man. Most of the time.

The doctor walked to their bedroom door and rapped, not really expecting a reply. For that reason he wasn't disappointed. “Open this door, Sherlock Holmes!”

Sherlock ignored the door and just twisted his head, rubbing his eyes into his knees, wishing John would just go. Go and leave him alone for a while. Maybe more than a while. He knew that wouldn't happen though, they were as stubborn as each other.

“Right now, Sherlock!”

He resisted the urge to shout back at him.

This wasn't a full on emergency, yet, so John had time to fetch a small screwdriver and spring the lock on the door. He pushed it open and stepped into the room, placing his hands on his hips.

Sherlock growled at him, “Piss off.”

That did it, John was across the room in a heartbeat. “Oh no you don't. You aren't about to start treating me the same as you do Mycroft.”

Sherlock glared at him for a moment, contemplating the pros and cons of answering or ignoring.

“Why not? You treat me the same way Mycroft does!”

That felt rather like a punch in the gut to John, but that wasn't the end of it.  
“You 'consulted' with him about me, I can tell. 'Sherlock's being stubborn again. What to do?' Bah!” Sherlock rolled over presenting his back to the doctor, then he looked back over his shoulder. “And it did move.”

John folded his arms across his chest determined not to rise to the bait. “Have you any idea how ridiculous you are being?”

“Of course I do. That's all I'm capable of, isn't it? Being ridiculous. Now piss off John, you may treat me like I'm a child but I'm not.”

John took the two steps required to reach the side of their bed, grasped Sherlock by the curls and pulled him, spluttering, to the kitchen. “There,” the doctor pointed with his free hand at the few surviving fingers and palm lying on the floor. “Get a good look at it, Sherlock.” He toed at the mess disdainfully. “It's nothing more than plastic.”

Sherlock wrenched his head away. He rather like being pulled around by his curls, but this was out of context. He was about to make a sharp remark when John... squealed and jerked away.

“Bloody hell!” John shouted as he climbed on top of the table. “It moved. Those fingers moved!”

Sherlock dropped to his knees and went to pick it up, ignoring the doctor once more.

John grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him back. “Don't, Sherlock. Be sensible about this.”

“Why? It's only plastic.”

John moaned at his words being tossed back at him. “Yeah, right. I'm sorry. Now get away from it!” He used his grip on Sherlock to pull him away from the writhing fingers. “Gloat later.”

“Why? What's the point of even talking to you? Back at Baskerville, I told you what I saw. I was right, it may have been twisted and thrown out of context but I was right. And yet here we are again. You thinking I'm making this up. I believe what I see John, I don't lie. You're supposed to be my boyfriend and you can't even trust me.”

He pushed the doctor back grabbed his Belstaff off the hook, charged down the stairs and out the front door.

Only to be grabbed by two men immediately. Quite clearly Mycroft's men, in their sharp suits and shoes. He didn't care though as long as he got away from John.

Sherlock climbed into the sedan, his nose wrinkling in distaste as he registered his brother's presence. “You've corrupted him, Mycroft. He doesn't trust me, thanks to you.”

Mycroft's eyebrow rose. “Consider, brother mine, how you would have reacted had your roles been reversed.”

Sherlock sniffed. “Irrelevant. My observational skills are superior, not to be questioned and that's not the only thing. I trust - trusted John with my life. In return he wouldn't even contemplate believing me. Thanks to you. I don't care much for your opinion anyway. Just tell the driver to go. Take me wherever it was you were planning to lock me away this time.”

“Sherlock, you can't just suddenly not trust John after one row. It wasn't even a row,” but his baby brother wasn't listening just staring out at the street at some of the buildings across the road, looking thoroughly dejected.

Sherlock watched through the tinted window as John drew near. The doctor shrugged off Mycroft's two minions and started pounding his fist against the glass. John didn't give them a second thought until it was too late. He raised his hand to his neck where the needle had stuck in disbelief, then he collapsed to the pathway.

“John!” Sherlock cried out, forgetting his anger. He tried to open the door. It was locked against escape. He turned back to face Mycroft, who was holding a breathing mask to his face.

“I asked him to keep you safe,” Mycroft explained, his voice muffled. “But now he knows about the manikins and he'll start asking questions too.”

Sherlock's lids began to droop as a gas filled the passenger compartment. “What...”

“It's for your own good, both of you.”

Sherlock's world went black.

***

Sherlock woke hours later deep underground. Some sort of basement holding facility to be precise. That's all he could get from his preliminary deductions at least. His head didn't hurt like he was expecting it to and on spotting John slumped in the corner he achingly crawled over. He pressed his fingers to his neck to find a pulse; it was there and strong and then he remembered who had put him in this stupid dungeon in the first place. Mycroft.

He climbed to his feet and began hammering on the door. It opened to reveal Mycroft, as smug as ever.

“How is Doctor Watson? Alright I presume?”

The nerve of him, Sherlock threw a punch, somehow managing to catch his brother off guard. His head snapped back.

“Oh brother dear there's no need for that, is there?” He'd held his umbrella up to stop his minions approaching but they were still wary.

“You're no brother of mine, Mycroft, I fucking hate you. I thought I hated you when I came out of rehab but that is nothing compared to what I feel now.” Sherlock headed back to his lover on the floor, he didn't care where they were, at least they were together. He still felt awful for getting mad earlier he needed to make it up to him. Somehow.

“Sherlock…” the detective missed the pinched expression on the older man's face, not that he would have cared if he hadn't.

“Taking me is one thing, Mycroft… I'm the one you're supposed to care for not gas and then lock up. But taking John is another and so much worse than that. I am never, and I mean never going to forgive you for this.”

“You need to understand-”

“Fuck off! I don't want to speak to you I don't even want to look at you. I don't care if I ever see you again. We are done.”

Mycroft sighed, letting his shoulders hunch and his worry show on his face. “If that's the price I must pay, so be it.”

Sherlock didn't show any sign of relenting.

“As soon as it's safe, you will be released. Until then, simply call out if you need anything.” Mycroft stepped back, taking one last look at his brother. “You may hate me at your leisure, Sherlock. At least the two of you will be alive.”

It seemed like forever before John began to come around, groggily at first. He caught sight at Sherlock sat the other side of the room. Well, 2 yards away, the room wasn't especially gracious. He had his arms wrapped around his knees but his head snapped up when he recognised movement.

“Sherlock, Sherlock I am so sorry, I was an idiot.”

The detective shifted so fast he made John jump, he was on his knees beside the older man in seconds. “It's not you who should be sorry, John. This is my fault. Mycroft put us here.”

“He did what? Are you hurt?”

“No no I'm fine. Don't worry about getting angry at him John, I doubt he'll show his face again.”

“How'd you mean?”

“I don't think he liked what I had to say when I woke up and found you unconscious, in fact I don't want to see him anyway. I've had enough of his meddling. Stupid old fool.”

John cupped his cheek. “Are you sure you're ok?”

“I'm fine. Fine, honest, just mad I guess.”

“You're a little more than mad, Babe.”

“Would you prefer livid?” Sherlock's lip was curled in an ugly snarl. “Or perhaps enraged, fuming, furious, incensed? Any and all apply.” His hands fluttered over John's face, then settled to cup his jaw. “No one's allowed to hurt you or put you in danger.”

John grasped Sherlock's wrists. “I'm not hurt and I rather expect your brother's trying to keep us from danger, Love.” John gave a shudder. “I can't believe I saw it move, but how, Sherlock? How?”

The detective gave a shake of his head. “I don't know.” Now, he shouted over his shoulder, “But Mycroft does! And do you know what? For once in my life I don't care. All I care about is getting you and me as far away from him as possible.” He stood up and took the few paces to the door. “Open up!”

He waited a moment but there was no sound from the other side. “Oi!”

John looked up at him, “they aren't stupid, ’Lock.”

“Mycroft had the cheek to say if we wanted anything to open up. I mean look at this place, it's a dump, if he just wanted to protect us he would have found us a non-penetrable room in some hotel not some rank dungeon.”

The door pushed in finally and Mycroft stepped in. “I was told you wanted something.”

“Yes. Out of here.”

“That's not going to happen. John, you're awake, that's marvellous. Would you like tea?”

He nodded, warily.

“Sherlock.”

“Piss off,” he spat, instead.

Sighing, sadly, Mycroft turned on his heel.

When he returned with a drink for the pair of them John was pacing in one corner and Sherlock must have been right at the back of the cell, sat in the dark. He could just imagine how he would be sat, all curled into a ball.

Mycroft paused where he was stood. There were two paths before him. Down one, he lied boldly and kept the other men in custody, but safe until the madman in the blue box disappeared once more. Sherlock would hate him, but he was more than willing to accept that. Down the other path, he revealed just enough to satisfy his brother's curiosity and keep him from haring off in search of further clues. The question was, which path led to Sherlock's long-term safety and which was simply a patch on the problem?

He handed John his mug and then walked towards his brother. He found him like he'd imagined, but he was tight in the corner. He crouched down in front of him and held the mug out. It was dark but enough light flickered from the door that he could just make him out.

Sherlock looked up at him with such resentment Mycroft struggled to swallow for a moment. He didn't take his mug but the government official wasn't surprised.

Deciding he preferred his brother to his suit he spun around and sat next to him.

“Will me telling you everything you want to know keep you in 221B? Safe?” There was no response from his baby brother and he sighed. “I will tell you if you promise you will listen to John.”

“I'm not promising you anything. And I don't want to know anything. Just leave me alone.” This time it was rejection when he looked across. “Please.”

“Sherlock, I'm sorry. I've always put you first, but your safety comes before your feelings towards me.”

“Right. Can you leave now?” Sherlock's voice was low and full of hatred.

Mycroft wasn't one to surrender easily, so he shifted the conversation to John, knowing his brother would be compelled to listen. “I know you to be a practical man, Doctor Watson, but can you open your mind and embrace the improbable?”

John looked from Sherlock to Mycroft, feeling a bit light headed and more than a bit overwhelmed. “I've accepted the improbable reality of the two of you, so why the hell not? Go ahead, surprise me.”

“What might advanced technology look like to us, John?” Mycroft raised a single eyebrow. “I don't mean the next advance in computing or medicine. Think in broader terms. Think... beyond the known. Just how dangerous might it be? How unpredictable?”

“Stop it, Mycroft,” Sherlock interrupted quietly.

His older brother's head snapped over.

“Just get out. You locked us up to keep us safe,” he spat. “Well I fear for your safety if you remain in this cell much longer.”

“Sherlock, please.”

“No! I'm not going to owe you anything. So keep your mouth shut and piss off.”

Mycroft, the British Government, Sherlock's big brother and protector hung his head. He couldn't win, no matter what he did at this point. Knowing that, he decided as he must, for Sherlock's safety and, by extension, John's. “Doctor Watson, do take care of him for me, won't you?”

John nodded, not trusting himself to speak. What the fuck had Mycroft been getting at? 'Broader terms', indeed.

Mycroft left closing the door behind him.

He returned just over an hour later, the blue box had been sighted near the London eye. This would all be over soon.

“You will be allowed to go home in the morning.”

Sherlock looked deliberately away from his brother. “Delightful.”


End file.
